


AU's and One-shots

by Elvesliketrees



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AUs, Angst, Dark AUs, Each one-shot will contain relevant tags, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Fusion AU, Multi, Numerous universes, One-Shots, Pirate AU, Torture, family au, fem!Athos au, serial killer au, unfinished works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not really a good summary for this...basically the fic where I write up one-shots for the AU's and other stories that I may write in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AU #1: Serial Killer AU (No relationships)

**Author's Note:**

> Update about this chapter: This chapter has officially been "checked off" and is currently it's own fic, "Three is Penance". So, if you want to read the extended storyline, that's up there:) Thank you so much for all the support and happy reading!
> 
> Original notes: Okay, hi guys! This is certainly a unique one for me, so I think it warrants a little explanation! I always get these random ideas for AU's or one-shots and trash them when I can't get past the middle (and I'm also notorious for not being able get these things to the end), so I came up with this fic. This is for your benefit, and my planning benefit! Basically, these are one-shots into longer works that I may possibly be doing in the future. Each AU will be completely independent, so chapters don't necessarily have to be read consecutively. And so, I would LOVE to have you guys comment, what you like, what you don't like, what works, what just doesn't. Anything goes! If there's something that you would like to see, please let me know and I'll see what I can do:) However, these are flexible, so the work that comes from it's designated chapter may change a little in the end due to revising, though they will always be along the same lines. Once a work has been "checked off" so to speak, I'll update its designated chapter with the link. And so, let us delve into this one's warnings! This first one is a Serial Killer AU, so obviously this one is going to be a little dark. Warning for some very scary elements, gore, blood, and graphic scenes of torture. Again, please please please feel free to comment on whatever you think and if you would like to see this pop up later! Thank you for reading and enjoy:)

The feeling was back, the dark tendrils snaking out from his heart, filling his mind, blurring his vision. He bit his lip to contain the groan at this obtrusive invasion, and blood filled his mouth. The salty and warm liquid sloshed against his teeth, and he swallowed slowly. Oh yes, it was time. Three it would be, the number of times he had almost acted on his sin, touching that which he could not. The want to touch, the  _need_ , filled his heart, overwhelmed him. Oh yes, it was time. Three there would be, to account for his need, to stave off the temptation. Blonde hair ghosted along his wrist, touching him in a wanton way that made him tingle in pleasure, though it was only his imagination. Blue eyes, sharp and intelligent, pierced his, and he smiled. He watched as the man, curly haired and smiling, left his work at the hospital and walked towards his car. He was alone. He looked back at the van's other occupant, bound and still unconscious, he wouldn't be giving him any problems. With a smile, he poured the chloroform onto the rag and stepped out of the van. In seven days, his desires would be sated, temptation staved off. Let the games begin. 

\---

Captain Jean Treville looked at the evidence bag that Detective d'Artagnan had placed on the table and pushed a hand through his thinning blonde hair. "Call everyone in," he said quietly. 

"Sir?" d'Artagnan asked. 

"Do I say! If I'm right, which I know I am, we don't have much time," he whispered. With a pale look, d'Artagnan fled out of his office, and soon his voice scratched over the intercom. The Musketeers, a nickname that had been given to what had once been the Special Cases Division, consisted of ten personnel. When all were gathered at the big room outside of Treville's office, he stepped out and looked them over. He pulled out the manila folder that had been given to him by the Homicide Division this morning after Captain Gaudet had picked up the case. He walked up to the large whiteboard that was the centerpiece of the room and placed three photos on it. On each, there was a crucifix, plain and unadorned. Whispers and murmurs flew through the room, and he held up his hand for silence. "Gentlemen, for all of you who've been here more than five years, I believe that you're familiar with the 'Seven Day Killer'," he stated as calmly as he could. Half the room nodded, while the other half looked on in tense anticipation. "He's surfaced three times in my time with the NYPD, each time he's abducted three people between the ages of twenty-six and twenty-seven, each time leaving a crucifix at the scene. We've never been able to track him down, no suspects, no stand-outs. From what we've seen, there has been no connection with the victims, whether its been gender, school, or living area. After seven days, he leaves all three in a secluded area at a random park, hair dyed blonde and eyes dyed blue. You can all see why time is of the essence on this," he said quietly. 

"Has anyone ever lived?" d'Artagnan asked. 

"No, the victims appear heavily tortured, cause of death being shock. He performs the alterations postmortem, and lays them out carefully in the park, we've never been able to get DNA off the bodies or any of the surrounding scene," Treville sighed. 

"How long do they have?" Cornet, a burly detective of three years, asked. 

"Autopsies haven't been able to diagnose a window, but I would guess that six days is our mark," Treville stated. 

"And his three victims?" d'Artagnan asked. Treville tacked three photos on the board. The first was a dark-skinned man, burly and smiling, dark eyes dancing as he posed for the camera. The second was of a young man with dark curls and eyes, and the third of a brown-hair man with piercing blue eyes. 

"Meet Porthos du Vallon, Aramis d'Herblay, and Athos de la Fere. All three are age twenty-seven, though one lives in Queens as a social worker, the other in Brooklyn as a nurse, and de la Fere is a native to Manhattan and works as defense attorney at a small firm," Treville explained. 

"So how are they connected?" d'Artagnan murmured, "They don't live in the same area, the only thing that's really common about them is their age." 

"And that's what we're going to find out. It's time we catch this bastard," Treville growled. 

\---

Aramis' head was fuzzy, very fuzzy. His head felt like it was bloated, his eyes were made of lead, and his tongue was heavy in his mouth. He couldn't move, he seemed to be floating in the air. The last thing he'd remembered was walking back to his car after his shift. He twitched his fingers, and they sifted through something wet and cool, it felt good. He blinked open his eyes to find himself in a very dark place. Pain shot through his head, and he gave a pitiful little moan. There was a gasp, and soon a dirty face with wide eyes was in his line of sight. Hands braced his shoulders and lifted him up slowly, and he saw that he was in a hole. It was about ten feet deep, but was large. It looked like boards were stretched over the top, and minimal light drifted down from where the they didn't cover. However, blue tarp was stretched over the hole, though air was probably getting in from the large spots it didn't cover. Aramis looked once again at his companion, and wide eyes met his. 

"Where?" he croaked, "Where are we?" 

"I don't know! I woke up here, and then some psycho was yelling that he would shoot me if I moved, and he lowered you down here!" the other man said with a slight note of hysteria. 

"Hey hey, easy, we can't panic!" Aramis tried to comfort, though bile rose steadily in his throat, "Did you get any look at the guy who did this?" The man shook his head. Just then, there was some crunching, like leaves, and Aramis and his companion huddled back in against the dirt wall of the hole. 

"Move and I'll shoot," a low voice commanded from the top. The tarp was moved, and soon the boards were ripped off. A pale form was lowered down, a rope tied tightly around their chest and Aramis watched with trepidation as they were lowered to the ground. "Untie the rope from his chest," the voice commanded, and Aramis scrabbled to do so. Shaking fingers somehow undid the tight knots, and finally the rope was freed. 

"Hey, who are you, what do you want with us?" Aramis called. The only answer he received was a box of saltine crackers and a bottle of water being tossed down. The boards and the tarp were replaced, and they were once again in darkness. The world tilted, and Aramis soon found himself tilting with it. Strong arms wrapped around him and lowered him to the ground, next to their new companion. 

"Easy, you just woke up," big man rumbled above him, "I was gettin' worried after a while, you were out for a long time. What happened?"

"I-I was going to my car after my shift at the hospital. I remember grasping the handle, and then I woke up here," he sighed. A small whimper came from their new companion, and he tossed his head restlessly. Leaves were tangled his brown hair, and his blue eyes looked around the hole blearily. "Easy now, you're okay," Aramis comforted. 

"Wha'?" the man slurred. 

"We're in some hole. Some psycho lowered you down here a bit ago," the big man explained. 

"Who?" he asked, a little clearer this time. 

"We don't know, we know as much as you do right now. I think it's best if we just keep quiet, there's no way we're getting out here right now," Aramis whispered. It was obvious neither he, nor their new companion, were up to anything strenuous, they needed time to recover and formulate some kind of escape before trying it. 

"Who are you?" he asked quietly. 

"I'm Aramis, Aramis d'Herblay," Aramis said quietly. 

"Porthos du Vallon, you?" the other man asked. 

"Athos de la Fere," their newest companion responded quietly. With that, they all drew closer together and waited with held breath for what was to come. They prayed that they could escape, flee this nightmare that was rumbling on the horizon. 


	2. AU #2: Family!AU (Past Athos/Milady)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan is a young boy without his father, and actually isn't Alexandre d'Artagnan's son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated notes: It's official, the fic has been started, the title is "Familial Bonds":) Enjoy!  
> Original notes:Hey guys, thank you for reading. Not really any warnings in this one, except for maybe the boys taking d'Artagnan to places they shouldn't, and a little drunkenness:) This one mostly deals with the fact that d'Artagnan is four instead of nineteen, and that he was adopted by the d'Artagnans as an infant. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

The rain poured out of the heavens in a flood, seeping into garments, clinging to the flesh like skin itself. Alexandre d'Artagnan looked down at the small bundle in front of him and sighed. Charles shifted in the cloak that was wrapped round him, and he tightened his grip around his cloth horse, worn from many adventures around Gascony. 

"Buttercup is cold, Father," the boy of four said cautiously. 

"Ah, is she?" Alexandre asked. The boy nodded and looked up at him. Though not his in blood, this boy was his son, his heir. Taxes were high in Gascony, and trouble was starting to be whispered of. No, this was best. The woman had told them that they could reach her at this address in Paris, though she was probably thinking of letters, not the boy she had handed them four years four years ago. "Give me your locket, I do not want it damaged by the rain," he instructed, and Charles hurried to do so. This was the only thing the boy had left of the woman, the one mark that she had left to claim him. Alexandre stowed it in a pouch on his belt, and he drew it closed with a piece of string. Hopefully the message he had sent ahead to Paris had been received. He prayed that it had been received. "There's an inn up ahead, Buttercup can warm up there. We'll be in Paris tomorrow afternoon," he said with a smile. 

"With stew and bread?" Charles asked hopefully. 

"Aye, with stew and bread," he replied. He dismounted in the yard and swung Charles onto his hip, and he pounded on the door. The innkeeper answered, and Alexandre was able to rent a room with a meal. He grabbed the reins of his horse and began to lead him to the barn, Charles still hefted on one hip. However, a group of riders, came splashing up the road, and the leader drew a pistol. "What can I do for you monsieur?" he asked as steadily as he could. Charles burrowed his head in his neck, wary of the armed group. 

"Your purse," the man growled, "And the horse." He dropped his purse to the ground and walked over to his steed. He began to untie the bags with unsteady fingers, and then his hands grasped the pistol attached to the saddle. An old weapon, but still able to do it's job. 

"Charles, go on inside the inn, I'll be right there," he instructed carefully. They couldn't take the letter, or the locket, they couldn't take them! With a swift motion, he drew the pistol and aimed. He was too slow. A shot echoed through the rain, and a pain screamed through his chest. A shrill scream was heard, and soon a small, frightened face appeared above him. Had he fallen? He heard horses riding away, and he looked up into the face of his son. He withdrew the letter and the locket, but he did not have the strength to speak, to tell him how important they were. With a shaking arm, he pointed down the road to Paris. The boy was smart, he would understand. The last thing Alexandre d'Artagnan saw of his boy was a flying figure down the road, to hope. He only hoped that his message had arrived. He did not realize that the boy had left letter and locket in the mud. 

\---

She and the foul man finally reached an inn near Paris. It had been a long week, riding hell-bent for La Havre so that she could "conveniently" meet with Ambassador Mendoza, and then turning right back around near Paris, when it couldn't be known that he was so near, and then having to come to the conclusion she would probably have to kill the man sometime in the next three days. Some days she wondered why she put up with people like Mendoza. But she knew why. Each sous earned was another day earlier that she could write d'Artagnan, inform him that she was ready, and Richelieu paid well. Yes, she did this not for herself, definitely not for bloody France, but for a four year-old in Gascony. She wondered what he looked like now. Did he have her hair, her nose, was he as tall and strong as his father? It did not matter, he was not here, and she was. When they arrived at an inn not half a day from Paris, they were stopped by a commotion in the building. She dismounted and walked in with Mendoza. The innkeeper had a body laid on the table, and he looked up suspiciously at their entry. 

"Trouble?" she asked. Best to be concerned, if there was a murderer on the loose in the building, it would not go well for them. 

"Bandits, rode in and shot the man here, and then rode off," he sighed. 

"Who was he?" she asked. Mendoza looked at her confusedly, why had she asked, why did she care?

"Someone named Alexandre d'Artagnan, he and his boy went to stable their horse while I prepared their room. Heard the shot and ran out, the man was on the ground and the boy was nowhere to be seen. We all looked for 'im, but he's long gone, poor fellow," the innkeeper sighed. Her heart leapt into her throat and she paled. 

"Alexandre d'Artagnan, are you sure?" she demanded. The man nodded and turned back to the body. 

"Are you alright madame?" Mendoza asked. 

"The air does not agree with me, I will see that the servant brings the luggage," she said quietly. Mendoza nodded and went to acquire their room. She walked quickly outside and noticed the spot of red in the earth. Why had d'Artagnan taken the boy out here? She knelt down and beheld the letter and locket almost buried in mud. With determination, she saw that it was indeed the locket she had dreaded it was. Opening the letter with shaking fingers, she began to read. 

_Milady,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that the message I sent to the address you gave my wife and I reached you. If it did not, I apologize. You probably have questions as to why I sent Charles so early. To be frank, there is news of trouble in Gascony. Taxes are high, and the people are uneasy. As my heir, I fear that Charles would be made a target should things escalate. I fear that our arrangement must be sped up. I ask that you take good care of Charles. He ought to be bearing the locket you gifted him with at his birth, along with a scar on his arm due to an accident. I hope to deliver this to you myself, but if not, I ask again that you take good care of the boy. I realize that your reasons for leaving him to myself and my departed wife were your own, but I ask that you move past them now. If this letter is lost, and Charles as well, look for the locket and the scar. The boy would reach about to one's hip, is small, and has dark hair and blue eyes. God be with you, and I pray that my previous message has reached you._

_Alexandre d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony_

The letter fell from her shaking hands. What trouble, what message? She had been gone about one week, had not returned to the address she gave for about two. With a steely glint in her eye, she pocketed both letter and locket. When the innkeeper arose the next morning, Mendoza had done him the inconvenience of slitting his wrists in a bathtub, and his mistress was nowhere to be seen. She had a boy to find. 

\---

Paris was big, very big. There were people with horses, people with carts, people with wagons, and people that were walking. There were people selling things, buying things, looking at things, bargaining over things, it was one big noise! d'Artagnan looked about the city with huge eyes and felt very lost. He wanted Mother and Father, but they weren't here, would never be here. His stomach rumbled, and he knew that the last thing he'd had was lunch the day before. There were people shoving by, and he suddenly felt very small. The world was too large, and he was alone in it. It was a long way back to Gascony, and he knew that he would starve before he got there. He had no money, no one he knew, and no idea what to do. Father would have known what to do, but he hadn't told d'Artagnan why they were coming to Paris in the first place. With a whimper, he hugged Buttercup to him and tried not to get pushed over. When he collided with a pair of boots, he looked up at their wearer in fear. 

\---

When Athos had woken up that morning, he had cursed the sun for shining so brightly. Didn't it realize he was hungover? Well, obnoxious or not, duty called. He donned his clothes and walked outside, it was early yet and he wanted to be on time for breakfast. When something crashed into his boot, he looked down with a glare. When he saw the trembling figure, small and much older than a babe, his expression softened. His cloak was soaked, as were his boots, and he had dark rings around his eyes. He picked up a cloth horse and looked up at him with watery eyes. Oh dear. He knelt down and braced himself. The interactions between himself and children were better not remembered or spoken of. He prayed that no one came away from this crying. 

"Hello little one, did you lose your Mother?" he asked quietly. Tears leaked out of the boy's eyes, and he mentally slapped himself. 

"Lost Father," he whispered. 

"Oh, and when did you last see him? If you can tell me where he was, we can go look for him," Athos stated. 

"Last night, bandits shot him," the boy whispered. Fantastic, absolutely fantastic. 

"Do you have anywhere to go, where is your home?" he asked. 

"Gascony, Father and I were staying at an inn, and he wanted to get here for lunch, but the bandits came," the boy said. 

"Can you tell me your name?" Athos asked. There was really no way they could get the boy back to Gascony. 

"d'Artagnan, who are you?" he asked. 

"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. If you want to come with me, I'll get a you a place to stay," he said quietly. The boy nodded and held up his arms. With a sigh, Athos hefted him on his hip, where the boy amused himself walking his cloth horse up and down his arms. Eight adoring women later, they were at the garrison and walking up the stairs to Treville's office. The Captain was absolutely going to love this. With a passion. When the Captain called for him to enter, he set the boy down on one of the chairs and stood behind it. 

"And who is this?" Treville asked confusedly. 

"This is d'Artagnan, he and his father had a little trouble with bandits last night and he needs a place to stay," Athos sighed. 

"They shot Father," d'Artagnan whispered. 

"And where are you from, is there anyone who can take you in?" Treville asked. 

"I'm from Gascony, and no," he said quietly. Treville's face fell. 

"I know the church is about full-up, but I can send messages out to see whether there's a suitable family. However, that doesn't solve our problem right now," Treville sighed. 

"Well, we can't very well just drop him off at a street corner," Athos replied. 

"What would you have me do, have him here at the garrison?" Treville asked. 

"That's better than foisting him on a family we don't know!" Athos sighed. Why did he care? Athos didn't know the boy, didn't have a responsibility towards him! 

"Who'll take him then? You?" Treville scolded. 

"Maybe I will!" Athos replied, before he really knew what he was saying. Treville grinned. 

"Very well then, you can have a day to settle him in. I'll go to the church and get them to send out some messages," Treville said smugly. Athos had been tricked, Treville had to be joking! Treville could find anyone more suitable than Athos! Porthos loved children, Aramis loved children! 

"Captain, I can't..." Athos stuttered. 

"Oh Athos, he's just a boy, and look at him, he's very excited to come home with you, aren't you lad?" Treville asked. Big eyes and a large smile greeted him from the chair, and the boy nodded vigorously. This was a fucking conspiracy, they were all against him! With a sigh, he looked down at the boy. 

"I don't have room, or toys, or time to go chasing after you if you get into mischief," he said firmly. 

"I don't take up much room, and I'll be very, very good!" the boy chirped. 

"I'm sure," Athos drawled as he foisted him up; the boy looked exhausted. Aramis was going to have a field day with this, Porthos would probably try to be polite about it. When the two came in, d'Artagnan was on his lap and eating some bread that Athos handed to him. The horse, which apparently named Buttercup, was laying on the table. Serge had taken once glance at the lad and had given Athos a double portion. Well, at least the boy was good for something. Aramis gave him a smile as he sat down. 

"And who is this?" he asked as he cooed at the boy. 

"I'm d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony!" the boy chirped. Aramis smiled. 

"He's adorable, where did you get him?" Aramis asked. 

"I'm taking care of him while we find a suitable family for him," Athos responded. 

"I'm gonna stay with Monsieur Athos!" d'Artagnan responded. Aramis raised an eyebrow at him. 

"You're going to take in a child?" he asked tentatively. 

"Who is?" Porthos grunted as he sat down with a plate, "And who's the pup?"

"I'm not a pup!" d'Artagnan cried vehemently. Athos raised an eyebrow. 

"This is d'Artagnan, he'll be staying with me until we find him a suitable family," Athos stated. 

"And you volunteered?" Porthos asked incredulously. 

"Why is this such a large shock to everyone, I'm not heartless!" Athos protested. Porthos quirked an eyebrow. 

"Well, who's gonna watch 'im while we're on patrol?" Porthos asked, and Athos looked down at the boy. Shit. He hadn't thought of that. Porthos gave him a knowing smile. 

"He'll go with me," Athos stated. 

"And on missions?" he asked. 

"Treville can watch him," Athos stated. Aramis gave a hum which said that he didn't believe a word of that, but left it alone. Well, it seemed that they were in this together...at least for now. 

\---

Interlude- Parenting Attempt #1:

Athos looked up to make sure that d'Artagnan was balanced before setting off on patrol. His hat was on the boy's head, and Buttercup was cradled in his arms. He was situated on Athos' shoulders, the perfect place for a good view, Musketeers had to be ignorant of nothing, after all. 

"And you know the rules, correct?" Athos asked firmly. 

"Don't go off with strangers, stay on your shoulders, don't get into a fight, and if  _you_ have to fight, go back to the apartment," d'Artagnan stated proudly. Athos nodded and passed up some bread. The boy munched while he they walked out of the garrison. 

"Bye-bye boys, have fun keeping the streets safe!" Aramis called. 

"Don't let Athos frighten the innocents!" Porthos yelled. d'Artagnan turned and waved as Athos scoffed. Really, the boy had gotten on well, he hadn't complained, had tried to help around the apartment, had listened to everything Athos said, and hadn't caused any mischief. Porthos had even gotten around to carving him some wooden toys. After his bread was finished, he asked a horde of questions about where they were, what they were doing, what that person was doing, why this person was doing that, the list went on. The patrol went well until they met some Red Guards. 

"Oh look, a Musketeer and a brat!" one cooed. 

"'m not a brat!" d'Artagnan grumped. Athos shot him a look, and the boy glared down at Athos' boots. 

"If you do not mind gentleman, we'll be on our way," Athos said with a cool look. A "misplaced" arm sent d'Artagnan reeling to the ground, and Athos crouched down in front of him, a snarl on his face. The ensuing tussle was really quite spectacular, and Athos was soon panting and nursing a black eye. He took a crying d'Artagnan from a well-meaning bystander and replaced both hat and horse. 

"No more patrols," he panted. d'Artagnan shook his head vigorously. 

\---

Interlude- Parenting Attempt #2:

Treville readjusted the boy on his hip as they watched the sparring down below. He really was quite adorable as he watched the men, his blue eyes sparkling in awe. 

"I can't see why Aramis couldn't watch you, he has the day to himself," Treville sighed. 

"Aramis isn't allowed to watch me anymore," d'Artagnan sighed. 

"Really?" Treville asked. 

"Yeah, Athos got mad, even though he was really fun!" d'Aragnan huffed. 

"What happened?" Treville asked, though he immediately kicked himself for it afterwards. Did he really want to know?

"Aramis was watchin' me and said that we could go see a friend. We went, and her name was Mademoiselle Adele, she was really nice! She even let me play with her necklace! Then I got to go play with the maid while Adele and Aramis had a grown-up talk. The maid was fun, I helped her fold the clothes! Aramis came and got me after they were done with their talk and we went to go have dinner. When I told Porthos, he started chokin' on his food! Athos yelled Aramis' name real loud, and they yelled at each other. Then Athos said a word Porthos said I should _never_ say, and then he covered my ears! I asked Porthos why Athos was so mad, and he said that it was because Aramis wrestled Adele in her bedroom, and that's not a proper thing to do. Why were they wrestling?" d'Artagnan asked. Treville was not prepared for this, and quite frankly, he was surprised that Aramis was alive. 

"That's a question you'll have to ask Athos," he sighed, "Henri, get that blade up!"

\---

Interlude- Parenting Attempt #3:

"That one," d'Artagnan said. This was a fun game! Dujon was losing, and him and Porthos were winning! Porthos said that he couldn't tell Athos that they played this game, that it would be their secret. Porthos handed him another hunk of bread, and d'Artagnan took a sip of milk.

"Yeah pup, good choice," Porthos grunted. Dujon squirmed in his seat, and Porthos smiled at him. This was fun! "What do you think, three more sous?" Porthos asked. Well, they had what Porthos said was a good hand, and Porthos seemed to like sous. d'Artagnan nodded. The nice lady dropped off another cup, and the red stuff looked yummy! d'Artagnan picked up the cup and drank, and instantly coughed. That stuff was bitter! Maybe another sip... Lots of sips later, the nice lady whispered something in Porthos' ear. d'Artagnan's tummy felt  _awful_ , and the red stuff was gone!  He hiccuped. 

"More?" he asked. His voice sounded funny! Porthos looked down at him in alarm. 

"Pup, you drink this?" he demanded. d'Artagnan nodded. 

"I tried to tell you!" the nice lady stuttered. Porthos scooped up his sous and picked him up.

"Bye Dujon!" d'Artagnan cried. 

"Alright pup, let's go see Aramis," Porthos said quietly, "And pray Athos doesn't find us." They went to Aramis' and he opened the door. 

"What happened?"Aramis asked, his eyes serious. 

"We were playin' a game with Dujon, and the nice lady set some red stuff on the table, and I drank it, and I don't feel good," d'Artagnan said quietly. Aramis' eyes widened. 

"He's going to kill you," Aramis whispered. 

"I know, can you help me?" Porthos whispered. 

"Get him inside," Aramis sighed. d'Artagnan took a nap, and then Athos was kneeling over him. 

"Are you feeling better, Porthos said you got sick," he said quietly. 

"Yeah, we had fun! We played a nice game with Dujon, and then the nice lady dropped off some red stuff that tasted sour, but I drank it all because it tasted better when I sipped it, and then it was gone and I felt sick, and then I took a nap!" d'Artagnan said. Athos raised an eyebrow Porthos. d'Artagnan wondered why he'd been cutting his hand across his throat while he told Athos. Aramis had his head in his hands. 

"Porthos?" Athos asked. 

"Yeah Athos?" Porthos replied, his eyes wide. 

"How drunk is he?" Athos asked with a small smile. 

"He-he had a whole cup of the good stuff," Porthos said with a grimace. 

"Let's get you home, I don't think that red stuff will taste so good tomorrow morning," Athos sighed. d'Artagnan's tummy felt weird, and he moaned. 

"Wanna nap," he moaned. 

"That's what we'll do, and tomorrow morning, I'll teach you how to dunk your head in a bucket," Athos replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


	3. AU #3: Pirate!AU (Aramis/Athos/Porthos, Louis/Anne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The AU in which our boys are honorable thieves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just a few warnings for this one! Warning for canon-typical violence and some mentions of abuse! Thanks for reading!

At the beginning, there was only the boy. The boy was alone, cold, hungry, tired, and penniless. There was no job for the boy, and no sympathy. All that men saw was the color of his skin, not the good and honest heart that lay beating beneath. For years the boy languished on the streets, helping his friends and being helped by them. But finally, hope came in the form of a Captain. He promised the boy adventure, good pay, a better life, and the boy accepted with a happy heart. He said his good-byes and set out on the open sea. However, the Captain was not good on his word. He was a brutal man, cruel and fickle, and prone to drink. He would work the men like animals, and the boy, now his cabin-boy, was worked without mercy. The only friend he was able to make on board ship was an older man, a common sailor. He helped the boy when he could, but it did not solve all the boy's problems. The Captain drove them rigorously and dangerously, sailing even through storms. Finally, there came a night when the Captain drank his heart away, and his mind grew angry and addled. He struck the boy, pronounced him unfit, and sought to flog him. However, the hearts of the men had been stretched to their limit, and as one they stood against their Captain. They would have thrown him screaming to the sea, if the boy had not stood and ordered mercy. With hard hearts, the men threw provisions for a fortnight into a lifeboat and set the Captain adrift at sea. Knowing that to go back was to be hung, they agreed that they would become pirates, destined to roam the sea until it claimed them. When they cried for a Captain, all the men were found wanting, until the boy's friend stood and shouted his name. As one, they agreed, they cried for the boy who had shown mercy, who had shown honor. And he was called Captain, and the man was made First Mate.

They roamed the seas, looting only those ships which could be looted and dividing the money justly. The Captain was beloved by his crew, and eventually, he grew to be a tall and strong young man of sixteen years. Then came the day that they saw a pirate ship afloat in the water, a Spanish naval ship sailing away from it. They praised God that they had not been found and drew up to commit their brethren to the sea. As they were about to return one body to the blue expanse, the boy saw the body twitch. With a cry, he seized it and ripped open the sheet it was wrapped in. He beheld a young man of his own age, with wild hair and dark eyes, but pale and still. However, the boy felt his heart beat in his chest. Ordering him to be taken to his ship, he doctored the young man himself. When dark eyes opened and beheld his savior, they were dead. There was no life behind the eyes, and the boy mourned for the loss of the spirit within. But the boy was never one to give up, and he set about to draw the young man back with a will. Slowly, piece by piece, the young man was drawn out. His eyes began to sparkle, he laughed and joked, and he and the boy were like brothers. His crewmates were dead, and so he stayed with the boy, serving under he who he thought of like a brother.

The duo were content in their friendship and grew to know one another over a year before things changed once more. They came upon a wreck in the middle of the night, chunks of wood and sail floating in the water. With heavy hearts, they mourned those who had given their lives to the sea and prepared to move on. However, the young man spotted a pale form in the darkness, floating on a large piece of wood. He lay unmoving, but the boy commanded that he be drawn up. The young man pounded on the figure's back, and water came out of his mouth in gushes. After some days of lying abed, he quietly told them his story. A Comte of some importance in France, he had been contractually married when he was thirteen years of age to a Comtesse on an island off of France. His father had been appointed governor of said island, but had recently died. He was to return there to wife and duty for the first time. When the boy and the young man saw the dread in his eyes as he spoke, a place was offered, and readily accepted. The man learned quickly and with a will, and soon the two became three. The balance of power once again shifted, and the First Mate became Quartermaster, and the young man and Comte became First Mates. And so Captain Porthos du Vallon, along with his First Mates Athos and Aramis, invented their own honor, an honor amongst thieves. 

\---

Three years later*

Placing a hat on Louis' head, d'Artagnan looked them both up and down. "Now who are you?" he demanded. 

"We are Ana and Louis of Lupiac in Gascony, and you are our cousin d'Artagnan. We are common merchants travelling to Paris by ship," Ana repeated quietly, shaking at the sounds of fighting from above. 

"We are merchants in cloth and foods," Louis whispered. d'Artagnan nodded and cocked his pistol. Ana jumped when there was a pounding on the door, and the walls almost seemed to shake. 

"Get back in the corner!" d'Artagnan barked. He aimed his pistol as the door crashed in. A large man stood on the other side, a serious look on his face as he stepped inside. 

"Do that and you'll regret it," he rumbled, taking a step forward. d'Artagnan could see at least three men behind him, and he knew that there would be more up on deck. With a sigh, d'Artagnan lowered his pistol and set it on the ground. The man gave him a large grin and gestured out the door. They were herded up on deck, where what was left of the crew was standing. They had gotten caught in a bout of influenza only the last week, and the crew was weak and tired. "Now, are you gonna behave, or will I have to tie your hands?" he asked seriously. 

"You have my word that we will behave," d'Artagnan said quietly. The man nodded and herded them over with the crew. Another man with brown hair and blue eyes looked at them coldly, as if assessing them. He said something quiet to the large man, and he gave a great, bellowing laugh. With a shake of his head and a small smile, the man turned towards them. 

"I am Athos of the pirate ship  _Garrison_! You have my word that none of you shall be harmed as long as you do not attempt to harm us! As soon as we are done unloading our bounty, you may be on your way. However, any who wish to join us are welcome to do so, any takers?" he asked. Silence sang in the still air. "Very well!" he said, "We will take your three passengers as insurance that you will not attack us as soon as we show you our rudder, and you may sail to wherever you wish. We assure you that your passengers will be dropped off, unharmed, at a port of their selection." Ana was clutching at Louis, and he let out a shaky breath. 

"On behalf of the crew and our deceased captain, I accept your offer," d'Artagnan stated heavily. There was a murmur amongst the men, and he gave Louis a little shove forward. He only prayed that they could get away from them once they put into port. They crossed a gangplank, and before they knew it, the ship had cast off. They looked to see a crowd of men and women peering at them curiously. A man with a bright scarf tied around his head and sparkling eyes came up to greet them. 

"I am Aramis, First Mate here along with Athos. I would welcome you to the ship, but we won't fool ourselves with the thought that you came willingly," the man said with a sad smile. 

"Just do your work, and we'll have you home before you know it. I'm Porthos, the Captain here. You've met Athos and Aramis, beside Aramis is Treville, our Quartermaster, and beside him Cornet, our Master at Arms. Constance here will show you to your hammocks down below," the big man rumbled. A smiling woman with bright hair came up quietly and led them down below, when they came up again, Porthos called them over. "I need to know what skills you have," he said quietly. 

"I'm a good hand with a sword, and Ana here can sew well. She doesn't have experience sewing canvas, but she could learn. Louis is a good hunter, and good with a pistol, and I'm sure that he could help in the kitchen," d'Artagnan said quietly. 

"I'll be the judge of your swordsmanship," Athos said coolly. He gestured to the blade attached to his hip with a bright sash. Porthos handed d'Artagnan his sword, and the crew made room. The two met in the middle of the deck with a crash, and the crew roared. d'Artagnan could here Louis cheering for him, Aramis doing the same for Athos. d'Artagnan was good, but he could see immediately that Athos was better. Within ten minutes, his sword was on the ground and Athos was gazing down at him with a small smirk. A cheer went up from the crew, and Porthos bellowed for everyone to return to work. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. 

"Don't worry," Aramis said as he passed him, "No one has ever beaten Athos." With a chuckle, Porthos pushed him playfully to the helm and had him set course. Constance was stooped over Ana, who sat on a crate, and was looking over her needlework. Treville settled Louis on a crate next to her and set a bowl of potatoes next to him. With careful hands, he guided Louis' hands along the knife, showing him how to peel them. d'Artagnan could see Constance smile, and d'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief. A box containing swords thudded down in front of him, and d'Artagnan jumped back. Cornet harrumphed and pulled his thick arms across his chest. 

"No worries lad, we'll give you a few days before sendin' you off to new areas, now I want those blades sharpened and cleaned!" he said with a smile. 

"Aye," d'Artagnan said quietly. He didn't like this, not one bit, but it was best to play along. Aramis was already making light conversation with Ana, and Louis was a steady presence by his side. When Treville bellowed that the meal was ready, a proud Louis presented him with the bowl full of potatoes, and Treville ruffled his hair and smiled as if Louis had just given him a chest full of gold. When dinner was ready, they all ate quickly and performed their evening chores on the deck. 

"For the next week, we'll have you lot try a little of everything, see where to put you," Porthos grunted after a bout of silence. 

"I don't like being here, rest assured you'll be dropping the three of us off at the nearest port, but I assure you we won't cause trouble," d'Artagnan sighed. 

"Good, hate trouble," Porthos rumbled. 

"Only thing he does, that and someone who can beat him at cards," Athos commented as he sat down. 

"Nobody can beat me at cards," Porthos grumped. 

"And they say that I'm the melancholic one," Athos teased. 

"You  _are_ the melancholic one. You're a grumpy cat, that's what you are," Porthos said with a smile.

"I am neither grumpy nor a cat," Athos stated imperiously. 

"Then why do you purr when we rub your back?" Aramis called from the helm.

"Or hiss at people?" Constance asked from the mast.

"Or take naps in the sun?" Treville asked as he sloshed by with a bucket of water. He dropped it at Louis' feet, and the man looked at the mop inside it like a foreign object. With a roll of his eyes, Athos it shoved into Louis' hands and told him how to use it. When they all slept that night, d'Artagnan made plans of escape in his mind. The days passed quickly, with d'Artagnan and Ana helping out around the ship, and Louis helping Treville. d'Artagnan had told Athos to drop them off at La Havre, and there they could easily get a ride to Paris, and Porthos had agreed to their request. They stopped at a small town in Spain, about two weeks from La Havre, when d'Artagnan made his move. 

"Athos, take the whelp and go get some supplies," Porthos said as he tied his black scarf around his brow. Athos raised a brow and Aramis cleared his throat. "Promise you'll behave?" Porthos asked sternly. 

"Yes Captain," d'Artagnan said calmly, though his heart was slamming against his chest. With a nod, d'Artagnan and Athos disembarked from the ship and stood on solid ground.

"C'mon, we'll order the supplies and have a drink before get a wagon to take them to the ship," Athos said with a small grin. They went to a merchant, and Athos ordered their supplies with little trouble. The man spoke fluent Spanish, and soon they were off to the tavern with the promise to have the supplies loaded on a wagon in one hour. d'Artagnan got them a bottle, and Athos sipped at the bottle while they talked of supplies and routes. d'Artagnan noticed a back door in the corner and smiled.

"Just a moment Athos, nature calls," he grunted. He slipped out the back and began to run down the alleyway. He made an abrupt turn and looked about. The naval office, that would be the place to go! He saw the Spanish flag flying near the port, and he raced towards it. When he got to the office, he demanded to see the officer in charge.

"I am Captain Gaudet," he said seriously, "What is the trouble?"

"I am d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony, myself and two merchants were traveling to Paris when our ship was waylaid by pirates. We were spared as hostages, and my two companions currently lie with the ship," he panted.

"And where are these pirates?" Gaudet asked.

"Please, they were kind to us, I-I ask that you spare their lives, and show them mercy," d'Artagnan said quietly, "I only wish for myself and my friends to be out of their hands."  

"I promise you that the pirates will be shown mercy, now lead me and my men to their ship," Gaudet said quietly. With a nod, d'Artagnan waited until Gaudet had assembled his company and led them down the street. However, he crashed into a familiar figure. Athos glared at him from up above and seized his collar. 

"What did I tell you about running off? What the hell were you thinking?!" he demanded. d'Artagnan's heart was in his throat, it was supposed to go this way! He hadn't wanted anyone hurt! When Athos raised his head and saw the company, the look of betrayal on his face cut d'Artagnan's heart. "Why?" he whispered. Bile rose in d'Artagnan's throat. What had he done, these people were kind to them, had offered to drop them off! Athos was seized by his arms and pulled up between two men. Irons were clapped around his wrists and ankles, and he snarled at Gaudet. 

"You are hereby charged with kidnapping and piracy, what have you to say for yourself?" Gaudet demanded. Athos spat in his face. "Very well," he sighed, "You shall hang at dawn." 

"Wait," d'Artagnan breathed, "Wait, you said you would show mercy, that no one would get hurt!"

"I am giving him the mercy of a quick death," Gaudet said nonchalantly, "Take him to the cells!" Athos was dragged away, cursing and writhing, and Gaudet looked to d'Artagnan. With a sigh, d'Artagnan realized what he had to do. He couldn't let Athos die, not when it was his fault. With a grin, he took off running. He darted into an alley, and he heard the yelling of Gaudet and his men behind him. With a sigh, he slipped into alley after alley, and eventually the noise died down. When he stumbled to the ship, panting, and Porthos instantly seized him by the arms. 

"What happened, where's Athos?" he demanded. Doubled over and gasping, d'Artagnan recounted his story as quickly as he could. When all was said and done, a hand grasping his throat and slammed him to a wall. He heard yelling, but the hand clutching his throat had made his hearing fade out, the only thing to be heard was a slight ringing. He heard dim shouting, but it sounded far away. His legs, off the ground, scrabbled for purchase, and stars began to appear in his vision. Suddenly, the hand was drawn away, and he slammed onto the deck. He began to cough, and his hearing slowly returned. He uncurled from his heap to see Ana and Louis huddled together near the mast, Treville with them. Porthos was standing above him, chest heaving, and Aramis had a trembling hand on his chest, eyes stone cold. 

"Were you followed?" he asked harshly. d'Artagnan shook his head, he'd made sure of that. 

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Porthos asked softly. 

"Athos will hang, and for that I am sorry. I didn't want anyone to get hurt," d'Artagnan rasped. 

"Tell that to Athos," Aramis stated bluntly. 

"Take him to the brig!" Porthos barked, a snarl on his lips, "We'll deal with 'im later." 

\---

When d'Artagnan had crashed onto the deck, panting about a hanging and captains, Aramis thought his heart might break. He had loved once, long ago, but he had been betrayed. When he had awoken with Porthos looming over him, he promised himself that he'd never love again. That had worked for about a year. Aramis broke his silent promise when he fell in love with Porthos, loving, strong, caring, protective Porthos. Oh, he'd never admit it, not ever, but his promise was broken all the same. And then he met Athos. Where Porthos was a rock, steady and strong, Athos was a cool lake; refreshing, still, peaceful, calm, but capable of being tumultuous. And so he was fell in love with two men, though he would never admit it to either of them. No need to complicate what they had, what he would force himself to be content with. And now he could not even have that, not even a friendship, all because the whelp couldn't wait two weeks! Aramis was angry, but he knew that he couldn't let Porthos murder the boy, and so he intervened. When Cornet and Will marched him to the brig, he looked up at Porthos. 

"We have to go and get him," Aramis stated. 

"Aramis, there'll be guards crawlin' all over the place!" Porthos groaned. 

"And so we'll just let him hang then?!" Aramis demanded. 

"Of course not!" Porthos barked, "But I'm not gonna have us go in there and get ourselves shot! We have to have a plan!" 

"What if we got him out tonight, before they even hung him?" Aramis asked. 

"In the jail?" Porthos demanded, "Are you insane 'Mis?!"

"But what if we distracted the guard, and then slipped inside? It would be in and out, nice and quiet, as long as we dispatched the guard," Aramis stated. 

"And who the hell are they gonna let into the jail?!" Porthos demanded. 

"Well, even soldiers need entertainment at one point or another," Aramis stated with a smile, looking over at Ana and Constance. 

\---

Constance was going to fucking murder d'Artagnan, and then Aramis, and then Athos, but not before she'd given him a relieved hug. Which he would be receiving, like it or not. Beside her, Ana tried to force her poor dress to cover some more skin. 

"I don't think it'll cover any more Ana, you look fine. Besides, we need to distract the guards!" Constance sighed. 

"I'm going to murder that boy," Ana growled under her breath. 

"That's the spirit! But remember, Athos first!" Constance whispered. They approached the guards, and Ana flipped her hair back and smiled. 

"One golden dubloon gents," she purred. 

"And we'll take you to heaven," Constance sighed. 

\---

Athos was sitting in his cell, his hands on his knees and his mind a tumultuous storm. He would have given anything to see Aramis one last time, he and Porthos. But he knew that the crew would soon be joining him. Captain Gaudet had already come to visit him, demanding where the ship was, and Athos had kept his silence, though his body now ached because of it. There was a bang at the top of the stair, and Athos watched in confusion as a body rolled down. With baited breath, he watched as a wide-eyed Ana, dagger bloody and held in front of her, advanced into the room. Constance came after her, keys in one hand. Why were they both dressed like working girls?! Ah well, some questions were best left unanswered. With a gasp, Constance bolted forward and began to unlock the cell. 

"Ana, grab Athos' things on the table and watch for more guards!" Constance barked. 

"There aren't any more, Athos said quietly, "Except for the three up top, they're all looking for you!" 

"Thank God," Ana breathed. Athos limped out of the cell (one of the men had done him the disservice of kicking him in the knee) and watched as Constance unlocked his irons. Aramis was going to absolutely love this. 

"Come on, quick!" Constance barked. They raced through the streets, and Athos felt like crying when he spotted the familiar ship. Arms encircled him, and he was instantly subjected to Aramis' fussing as Porthos led him to a crate. 

"Oh Athos, thank God," Aramis breathed, "Are you hurt?" Without even waiting for an answer, Aramis began to feel under his shirt, growling as his ribs shifted. "You'll need a few days abed, but you'll live," he finally sighed. 

"The boy?" Athos asked. His eyes were drooping, and he wondered what had been in the tea Aramis had given him. 

"Came runnin' as soon as they took you away," Porthos growled, "But that don't mean that he isn't in deep water, very deep water. Now get some rest, he'll be there for ya to murder in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!


	4. Au #4: Fem!Athos AU (Aramis/Athos/Porthos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always said that the Comte de la Fere had two children, most did not notice the small figure in the shadows, the daughter protected so fully from the world she yearned for.

People were always proud of her brothers, Olivier and Thomas, good sons of nobility. Olivier, the perfect heir, steady and true, and Thomas, beloved by everyone. Olivia often found herself wishing that she could roam the wide world, free and heading towards adventure, but she was the daughter of the Comte de la Fere, she had responsibilities, a standard to uphold. At the age of eight, she became the woman of a mourning house. Olivier, her twin and companion in everything, had lessened the burden as much he could, but Thomas needed minding, not older girls who could take care of themselves. She railed against the cage she had been placed in, a cage made of manners and corsets and standards, and Olivier saw her misery. And so, one night, the two snuck outside, and she was presented with a gift. The rapier was light, long and quick, the perfect weight for a small girl. With sure hands, Olivier showed her the standing positions that his teacher had only begun to show him the year before. She knew that Olivier expected the lessons to stop as she reached a proper age, but they did not. She grew bolder, and soon she could drive her twin in circles with her rapier. But then Father died, the marble statue that was always so distant, but always there. She was sixteen. She dried Olivier's tears and tried her best to prepare him for what was to come, the standards that society would push on him. The years passed in a grey shroud of duty and stillness. There were no more fencing lessons, no more talks of what would become of their lives when they came of age. There were suitors, paperwork, meetings, and late nights in abundance. She helped where she could, but women were not meant to run estates, and she would not bring her brother dishonor, though if the paperwork was miraculously done as he lifted his aching and sleep-addled head from his desk, he said nothing. Anne came when she was twenty. It was a relatively brief affair, Anne and Olivier courted only a month, but Olivia couldn't find it within herself to be worried. Anne made him smile so. Thomas had his doubts, but she talked with him quietly, assuaged his doubts with pretty words. She had never been more wrong. When she heard Olivier yelling, she burst into the sitting room, the image of that day forever burned in her mind. Thomas was on the ground, blood pouring from him and his eyes glassed over in what could only be death. Olivier rushed for her, and she watched as the woman slit his throat. She dove for the knife, and before she knew it, two servants were pulling her off the devil she had admitted into her own home. She sentenced her to hang at dawn the next day. When Olivia stripped off her clothes that night, she sat in front of her mirror. She was pretty, not beautiful but handsome enough, and now the sole owner of the estate of de la Fere. She knew that she would be expected to find a suitor within the month. Tears blurred her eyes, as she thought of the cage that would be hers. It was her duty, she knew, but she hated it with a vehemence that startled her. Then, she beheld the rapier Olivier had gifted her the year before, on her birthday, a time when he and Anne had only just begun courting. A man's weapon, freedom, courage, and the promise of adventure. And that night, Olivia de la Fere swore she would be no more, that she would never allow herself the cage society dictated. She went and retrieved Olivier's main gauche, and she took it to her hair. When her brown locks were coiled like snakes around her feet, she slept, her heart light for the first time in many an age. She watched the woman hang that morning, trying to repress the sense of satisfaction at the fear in her eyes as she stepped onto the wagon. However, in a fit of cowardice, she could not watch her die, could not watch as the good times, the smiles, died. She rode away, and did not look back. She buried her brothers in honor, and then she knew that it was time to depart. Time to depart before rumor spread of the lovely and rich Comtesse de la Fere. Oliver was about her size, though bigger, and she knew that his clothes would be the easiest to wear. With thread and needle, she adjusted three of his outfits and checked her hair. She would bind her breasts, wear pads to disguise her curves, and she would lie and say that her beard was coming late. She was young yet, and she knew a select few men who chose to keep themselves clean shaven. When she stood proudly in front of her mirror a week after her brothers had perished, her grief-ridden face was not Olivia's. She was Athos, and she was strong as the mountain she was named for, or she prayed she was. That night, she mounted her horse, and she did not once look back. She continued to Paris, adventures always seemed to start there, and found herself in a tavern. She called for a bottle of wine, and the woman serving did not even look twice at her. Why should she, she was the same as every man here! But she knew better, she savored the taste of freedom, the joy of guiding her own life. She clasped the bottle, and she preceded to wash away the grief that blackened her heart. When she payed attention to what she was doing, she saw the three bottles in front of her, and her mind was fuzzy. A man bumped past her, and he seemed to take offense to that action. Olivia obliged him the fight he so obviously wished to engage in. She was surprised when two men joined her in the brawl. One was large, loud and smiling as he tossed his opponents away from him. The other was quick and lithe as a cat, and just as coolly ferocious. Rapiers were drawn, and she dove into the fight with a new alacrity. When the men had been subdued and the tables readjusted with minimal grumbling, the men looked at her. "You're a piss poor fist fighter, but I ain't ever seen sword work like that," the large man said as they sat in a line against the outside tavern wall, passing a bottle back and forth. 

"Who are you?" the small man asked. 

"I am Athos, you?" she asked. 

"I am Aramis and this is Porthos. Are you looking to stay in Paris, Athos?" Aramis asked. 

"Perhaps, I go where I will," she said, valiantly trying to work around the slur in her voice. 

"Would you be willing to meet someone for us?" Aramis asked. 

"Think of it as repayment for my card game, which you interrupted," Porthos said quietly, though his lips were quirked in a small smile. Athos raised an eyebrow at them, but she guessed it couldn't hurt. The next morning, she found herself at the Musketeers regiment and in front of their Captain as Aramis and Porthos plead her case. 

"Seeing as how we are hard-pressed to fill our ranks, I'll give you a try without recommendation," the man sighed. She was handed a rapier and told to spar with a man called Dubois. Dubois was on the ground within five minutes. She did passably in her pistol work, but her hand-to-hand was horrendous (ladies did not have need for their fists). When she saw Treville look at her approvingly, with an admonishment to meet Porthos to work on her fighting, her welcomed her as an apprentice. Aramis escorted her to a house that he assured her was of good reputation, and Porthos had much to say on the landlady, a newly married young woman. 

"Constance'll treat you right," Porthos said, "As long as you pay rent and don't cause a raucous. Perfect place for a lad who's just gettin' his apprenticeship to board." Aramis knocked on the door and introduced her to Constance Bonancieux. She was admitted to the house, and introduced to her husband, a right prick of a man. She was allowed to board, and Constance led her up to her room. As the weeks passed, Athos continued to indulge in wine, though Aramis or Porthos was always conveniently there when she left the tavern. Constance was giving her strange looks, and Athos wondered if she had done something to irk the woman. When the door opened as she was adjusting the bindings on her breasts one early morning, Constance walked in quietly. She placed her blue doublet on the bed, pointing at the padding. 

"What is it like?" she whispered, looking at Athos with genuine curiosity. Athos recognized the same yearning she beheld in her own eyes that night when she abandoned her honor and standards, and she sat Constance down on the bed.

*Thus begins the tale of the Inseparables and one Olivia d'Athos de la Fere*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	5. AU #5: Marvel/Secret Agents Fusion (d'ARtagnan/Athos, Aramis/Porthos/Anne, Constance/Lemay, Milady/Louis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean Treville is the head of a special FBI task force called the Musketeers. While not exactly what he wanted, they have their own base and the people are professional, good FBI Agents. If only the government representative Richelieu would stop coming around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is a weird one! Basically, it's a Secret Agent AU, set in the Marvel Universe, with the Musketeers as the agents. Treville believes it to be an FBI task force, when in reality they are a governmental agency, under the direction of Richelieu, with each agent having it's own abilities. I guess the general things would be as follows-  
> Porthos: An Asguardian living covertly on planet.  
> Aramis: Porthos' lover, an elf from the nine realms.  
> Anne: An inter-galactic smuggler.  
> d'Artagnan: A specially trained assassin from another galaxy, escaped from his employers along with his partner Athos.  
> Constance: Genius with an IQ of 200, specialization in data analysis.  
> Louis: Hacker  
> Lemay: Mutant with the ability to heal.  
> Milady: Mutant with telepathic capabilities.  
> Basically, these guys are saving the world every day and Treville has absolutely no idea what's going on.

It was an absolutely beautiful, astounding morning at the garrison. Athos was lounging against the couch, d'Artagnan in his arms, as they watched the news. He could hear Porthos trying to talk Aramis and Anne out of bed, promising to make them coffee. Milady was curled up with a book, her head in Louis' lap while Lemay and Constance were debating over supplies. All in all, a fairly peaceful morning. "Aramis you dolt, how many have I told thee not to flush the toilet while I am in the shower?!" Porthos bellowed. Raucous laughter echoed up from their room, and Aramis gave a squeal. The door to their bedroom crashed open, and Porthos chased a howling Aramis out, naked as the day he was born. A crash from the kitchen echoed through the house, and he heard Porthos yell in triumph. He returned with Aramis over his shoulder, beating at his muscled back as he threw the laughing elf onto the bed. 

"Close the damn door!" Louis groaned from the couch. Anne, gift from the gods that she was, trotted over and slammed the door before her laughter joined that of her lovers. 

"I swear, I don't know how Treville doesn't know that they're together," Milady sighed. 

"It's not like you two are that secret either!" Constance remarked. 

"You do have to wonder how he hasn't figured everything out yet," d'Artagnan mused. 

"Dear, we've taught how to kill people since we were five, I don't really think we should be giving relationship advice," Athos scoffed, "Besides, I'd really rather not have the lecture on the employee fraternization policy that is sure to come." Constance scoffed. 

"So says that man that can barely operate the microwave and is scared of the blender," she snorted. 

"That demon attacked me!" Athos countered. 

"It is  _not_ a living thing, Athos!" Milady groaned, "God only knows how many times we've had this talk!"

"Then why did it come at me with a blade?" he demanded. 

"Because blenders have blades on the bottom of them, and  _you_ were the one who decided not to listen to Lemay when he told you to put your hand on the top!" Milady groaned. 

"The look on his face was hilarious though, you have to admit," Louis snickered. A mussed Aramis, Porthos, and Anne walked sedately out of their room, and Aramis padded towards the kitchen area. With a yawn, he took the blender out of its cabinet and plugged it in. 

"See?" Lemay encouraged, "Aramis isn't afraid of the blender!" Too late, they only realized their elven friend had made the same mistake that Athos did. There was a whir, and a scream from the elf, as the blender leapt from the counter. 

"Athos was right, Athos was right!" he wailed from under the counter. Porthos, staging an intervention, chose to ram the blender against the counter, bellowing obscenities at it. The group stared in shock as Porthos dropped the shattered pieces. 

"Is everyone alright?" Lemay demanded. Choruses of "yes" echoed throughout the room. 

"That's gonna be paperwork," Louis groaned. 

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," d'Artagnan countered. 

"I wonder what would happen if Treville found out that all that paperwork he hates is just emailed as spam to a sixty year-old woman in Apopka, Florida," Anne mused. The mess was cleaned up, and Constance tried to deliver the blender lecture once more to Athos and now Aramis.

"So it runs on electricity?" Athos asked.

"Which is made of lightning," Aramis added.

"Yes!" Constance proclaimed.

"And the lightning brings the blender to life, thus allowing it to engage in its campaign to eliminate all life on this planet!" Athos finished, looking proud of himself.

"How has Treville not noticed something?" she breathed. The question went unanswered, as Treville himself walked in.  

"Good news people, just training today!" Treville proclaimed. Oh fun, six hours of pretending to be a normal person! However, no complaints were actually voiced, and they prepared to go and do their work. However, the elevator gave a ding, and Athos tried to cover up his glee that Richelieu had another mission for them. However, it was not Richelieu that opened the door. Men in strange blue suits tramped in, holding guns on the young men and women. 

"By order of the Nova Empire, you are under arrest for interstellar robbery!" one barked. 

"Okay, what the hell is this?" Treville laughed nervously, "Davidson, is that you?" 

"I am Commander Pyke of the Nova Peace Corps, and you are under arrest!" the man said succinctly. Treville gave looked at them wide eyed. Suddenly, there was a crack, and Treville fell the ground. Louis stood behind him, nursing his fist. 

"Alright," he panted, "Now everyone just remain calm." Five minutes later, they were shown a security video. 

"And there is the leader, that one, taking his hood off," Pyke said. 

"That's not me!" Athos proclaimed. 

"But he says his name is Athos!" Pyke stated. 

"He could be lying!" Constance scolded, "It's not even the right hair color!"

"And my voice does not sound like that!" Athos proclaimed. 

"Then you have been framed?" Pyke asked. 

"We are Musketeers, an intergalactic liaison for Earth, we are  _not_   robbing Nova frigates," d'Artagnan sighed. 

"What if we help you, catch the men who did this?" Louis asked. 

"I'm always up for a mission," Milady mused. 

"What of the human male that is unconscious?" Pyke asked. 

"We could take him with us!" Aramis suggested. 

"Are you fucking serious, do you have any idea what a stupid ass idea that actually is?" Constance demanded. 

"Fine then, you and Lemay stay here with him, that's what we usually do!" Athos countered. 

"You must all come with us," Pyke said forcefully, "You cannot evade the long arm of justice that is the Nova Peace Corps!"

"We do not engage in highway robbery!" Porthos stated. 

"Fine, Lemay can keep him unconscious, we'll go with you!" d'Artagnan sighed.

*To be continued when I get this fic up*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to experiment with this one, let me know what you think! The plot would basically be the season premiere, with them carting unconscious Treville around in space to find Gaudet and his buddies. Thanks for reading!


	6. Modern! AU (Athos/Aramis/Porthos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Porthos of the Musketeers Gang Unit conducts a raid on the home Lucas Dujon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back from the great beyond! Uni has been absolute chaos this year, sorry for not posting more often! The main pairing for this one will be Athos/Porthos/Aramis, though d'Art/Constance may also make an appearance! This is mostly going to be a modern twist on the Musketeers, with a couple of surprises thrown in! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

         Porthos sighed and slumped in his sheet. He looked over at, Henri and frowned. “You check ‘im yet?” Porthos grunted. Henri grunted thoughtfully and peered at the cameras outside the building once more. At first glance, Porthos had to admit that everything looked ship-shape. Their red car was parked in the parking garage outside the Brooklyn apartment, the lights of which still shined on. The red car was carefully chosen, ostentatious enough not to be the stereotypical FBI white van, but not so loud that it immediately drew attention. Porthos ran a loving hand along the dash, praying that this wouldn’t be a night like usual. Athos may be his lover, but Baby held a sacred place in his heart. Athos would kill him when he got back from the undercover in the suburbs (lucky bastard) and the car was scratched, and then _Aramis_ would kill him for Athos’ pouting. Both were undercover for some milk run bullshit in the suburbs outside New York, not due until next week.

          “Yeah, he’s still in there,” Henri sighed, “Sitting at the table, same as ten minutes ago.”

          “Good,” Porthos grunted.

          “We sure that this guy is who we’re looking for?” Henri demanded.

          “Sure as anything. Dujon here has a rap sheet as long as your bloody arm. Our informant reported that he had ties to the Red Guard,” Porthos answered. Henri drew in a slow breath, he was old enough to know about the nefarious gang that seemed to have its pudgy fingers bloody everywhere.

          “Thus why Richelieu and Treville sent us in quietly,” Henri whispered. Thinking back on it, Porthos supposed it had started with the two of them, oddly enough. When both were young, they’d hated one another totally. Richelieu had just begun his work for the D.A.’s office, Treville was a new detective. Their enmity had changed when a typical gang case had sprung up. There was nothing strange about it, some kid at the wrong place at the wrong time. But the trail kept branching off with no leads, and Treville got suspicious. He had demanded extra time, and strangely enough, was supported by Police Commissioner Henry Bourbon. That time had been extended indefinitely when Bourbon had been found dead in his mansion, bullet in his head and his small kid hiding under a table. Henri nudged him and Porthos looked at the video feed.

          “Who’s he callin’?” Porthos whispered. The cameras were outside the building, they were lucky they got any image at all.

          “Not sure, let’s see,” Henri responded. The man gesticulated wildly, and then he pulled the phone away. He rushed about the apartment, grabbing phone and keys.

          “Come on, we have our warrant, they just wanted to see if we could catch anyone else,” Porthos grunted. He and Henri both jumped out of the car, clipping guns into belts. They crossed the street quickly and ascended the steps. Once they got to the door, Porthos and Henri each situated themselves outside the door. Porthos drew in a breath, centered himself, brought himself to the moment. He kicked in the door.

          “Lucas Dujon, come out with your hands up, this is the police!” Henri bellowed. There was a rustling, and both men rushed around a half wall. Lucas Dujon rose from the table.       

          “Who the hell are you?” he spat.

          “NYPD, we have a warrant for your arrest, put your ‘ands behind your head,” Porthos growled. Slowly, with a dark glare, Lucas Dujon raised his hands. Porthos grasped his wrists while Henri patted him down. He gave a small chuckle when he pulled a small Glock out of his waistband. Dujon only tensed slightly. Henri called the arrest in to dispatch and Henri took the man to sit on the couch.

          “Take a look, see if there’s no one hiding,” Henri said quietly. The man was right, Richelieu was right, and Porthos knew it would be a cold day in hell when the D.A. was wrong, and Porthos nodded. Porthos slowly walked through the house, gun cocked and scanning every surface. When he finally stopped at the end of the hall, he sighed, the house was clear. Dispatch would come, Dujon would be not his problem anymore, he’d go home and maybe get a pizza— _thunk_.

          Porthos whirled towards the source of the noise and cursed himself. He’d forgotten to check the goddamn closet! Pulling out his gun, he nudged open the door. The young boy, he looked no more than thirteen, looked up at him with huge eyes. Porthos swore that his heart stopped right then. With steady hands, he put the gun slowly back into its holster. He held out both his hands.          

          “Henri!” he bellowed.

          “Yeah?” he heard from the living room.

          “Call the EMT’s, we’ve got a kid in here!” Porthos yelled. He heard a loud curse, and then Henri started to speak into the phone. The kid tensed, his eyes darting every which way from the door to Porthos to out again.

          “Easy now kid,” Porthos rumbled, “I’m Detective Porthos with the Musketeers Gang Unit, you’re gonna be just fine.” The kid only backed up farther into the closet. Porthos knelt down, and the kid slowly looked up at him. “Can you tell me your name?” Porthos asked quietly. The kid only blinked at him, and Porthos was struck by how young he looked. Ten minutes later, the kid had also refused to type anything into Porthos’ phone, and the one inquiry about his parents had ended in tears. When the EMTs finally arrived, something finally seemed to spark in the kid’s eyes. The kid leapt up and flew into Porthos’ arms. Porthos grunted at the impact, but held the kid, he looked at the EMTs, who were waiting anxiously. “They’re not going to hurt you,” Porthos said solemnly. The kid only looked up at him with large eyes.

          “Sir…” one of the paramedics said quietly.

          “They’re not gonna hurt you because I’ll be coming with you,” Porthos sighed. The kid slowly let himself be lowered onto the stretcher the paramedics brought with them. Porthos followed them into the living room, watching as Dujon was led away. God only knew what he’d been doing with a kid locked up with him. The ride to the hospital passed in a blur of machinery and questions, and Porthos sat outside the exam room as they looked at the kid. Eventually Treville himself showed up and lowered himself down into a chair beside him.

          “You lot always did get the weird ones,” he chuckled.

          “Any word on his parents?” Porthos asked.

          “No, he doesn’t come up as a missing person from this year and he isn’t in the system. Poor kid still refuses to talk, docs put him at about fifteen,” Treville sighed.

          “He going into the system then?” Porthos asked quietly.

          “No. I checked into the specialized foster homes, the only ones qualified to house him, and none have an opening. He can’t go into a regular home, not if he’s involved in a case with the Red Guard,” Treville sighed.

          “What about protective custody?” Porthos asked.

          “Doesn’t seem to be any other choice,” Treville sighed, “Staring straight at him.”

          “Captain…” Porthos groaned.

          “You’d rather have him with the FBI?” Treville asked. Porthos only raised an eyebrow.

          “You’d rather have him with us?” Porthos demanded.

          “You sell yourselves too short,” Treville returned, “And besides, you three are the most qualified!”

          “To do what?! Treville, you know how long these cases can last!” Porthos returned.

          “You’ll be given time from the force to watch him, as he’ll be officially in protective custody. Please Porthos, Richelieu and I agree, we can’t have him outside agency hands, not on a case this important,” Treville said softly.

          “Fine,” Porthos sighed, “You can explain this to Athos.”

\---

          Five days later, a very pale and sick kid was placed into the back of Baby. In Porthos’ frantic spending spree (courtesy of the New York City government) to get the kid settled, he’d completely forgotten to call his partners. He kicked himself as he drove to their apartment, the kid settled tensely in the back.  The docs had diagnosed malnutrition and dehydration when the kid came in, but nothing that some rest wouldn’t cure. There wasn’t any reason why the kid couldn’t talk. Porthos drove him home in silence. When they finally arrived at their apartment building, Porthos helped him out of the car and to the elevator.

          “Home sweet home,” Porthos grunted as they reached the door. The kid didn’t say anything as he was led through the large apartment, only looked around in wonder at the new surroundings. Porthos settled him in the guest bed and started in on dinner. He woke the kid up long enough to get some bread and soup into him, only to have him fall asleep soon after. Porthos was settled in front of the t.v. when the door opened and two voices were heard in the doorway. God help him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading you guys, and I would love to hear your thoughts!


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